


Drive to Survive

by ToBebbanburg



Series: F1 AU [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 70s AU, And Blackmail, F1 AU, Life threatening situations, M/M, Moments of angst, Top joe explicitly, and lots of champagne, andy makes grown men cry, but more moments of comfort, mentions of switching, so tw for fire, there's sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBebbanburg/pseuds/ToBebbanburg
Summary: Joe and Nicky are successful F1 drivers, who despite appearing as rivals vying for the championship have been in a secret relationship for over a year. This is all well and good, until compromising photos of the two find their way into the wrong hands, and they have to decide what matters more: their love or their careers
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: F1 AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149191
Comments: 91
Kudos: 341
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	Drive to Survive

**Author's Note:**

> So this is technically a follow up to Lights Out and Away We Go, but that's not crucial to this story at all (essentially Joe and Nicky are drivers with a fierce rivalry, until Andy locks them in a garage together to work out their differences, and they work out rather more than that...)  
> Also this takes place in the 70s, in case you (like me) skim over tags.

Shout out to [Polarcell](https://polarcell.tumblr.com/) for giving me not one gorgeous picture for this, but THREE (and a colour alternative for one of them).

Yusuf al-Kaysani was not normally a man to suffer from nerves. There was no way he’d survive as Formula One driver if he let jitters get to him: between jumping into a death-trap on wheels every other weekend and having every interview he gave broadcast live around the world there just wasn’t space for him to have anything but the absolute utmost self-confidence in himself. And yet.

Joe was currently pacing up and down his flat as he tried to wish away the growing knot in his stomach. Nicky was supposed to have arrived ten minutes ago, and Nicky was always punctual to the point of making the Mercedes mechanics look like slobs. What if he’d been delayed? What if he’d crashed? What if he’d been waylaid by paparazzi, all desperate to know exactly what brought him to Monaco during the summer break, and what if they’d followed him here, what if there was a group of eager journalists sitting outside his apartment block just waiting for the scoop of the season, what if-

Someone knocked on Joe’s door. Nicky.

Joe bolted over to the door, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn’t eager, and wrenched it open.

Behind it stood Nicky, a Williams cap of all things jammed down over his head in a useless and hilarious attempt at disguise: anyone who followed F1 who caught one sight of that nose, of that moustache, would know instantly who was knocking on Joe’s door. It didn’t matter too much: if Joe had his way, neither of them would spend much time out of his apartment that holiday.

“Welcome to Monaco.” Joe beamed, letting Nicky step into his flat. Nicky had only brought one bag with him, and he dumped it by the door and took his cap off in one smooth motion. He shook his hair out and looked at Joe, a smile quirking on his lips.

“Thank you,” he said. He hovered awkwardly by the door, and Joe felt the knot in his stomach tighten again. This was the first time either of them had visited the other at home: it was so much different from the secretive hook-ups in hotels, the stolen moments grabbed at the race track. He worried that this had been a mistake, that it was too much, that things between them would change now that they were truly alone.

Nicky narrowed his eyes slightly at Joe, and Joe’s heart started beating even faster. Oh god, he’d been right, this was a mistake, he should never have-

Nicky kissed him, and all the tension left Joe’s body instantly. He shouldn’t have been so worried: kissing Nicky was as perfect and as natural as it always had been. Nothing had changed.

When he finally pulled away it was with a smile, and he rested his forehead against Nicky’s for a moment, just enjoying him being there, with him.

“I missed you,” Nicky said softly.

“You saw me last week,” Joe pointed out, but he knew where Nicky was coming from. They’d barely been able to get a moment to themselves during the last race in Belgium: the last time they had seen each other had been on the podium, surrounded by a cheering crowd and baying photographers. They’d both been soaked through with sweat and champagne, and as Joe had looked up at Nicky on the top step he had wanted nothing more than to tackle him to the ground and tear his overalls off him. As it happened, the most contact he was afforded was a single arm Nicky slung around his shoulder as they posed for the cameras. Joe had been hungry ever since.

“You know what I mean.” Nicky laughed, and jokingly jabbed his fingers into Joe’s ribs.

As Joe pouted and rubbed his side in mock hurt, Nicky wandered off into his flat, nosing around before coming to a stop in front of the large french windows that took up most of one wall, looking out to the sea.

“It’s a nice flat,” Nicky said approvingly. “Good view.”

“It is,” Joe agreed. He walked over to join Nicky and settled behind him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on Nicky’s shoulder as they looked out over the ocean. This was the real reason Joe had chosen this particular apartment: it was a little on the small side, but the view out across the sea was stunning.

“Beautiful,” Nicky assessed, leaning back into Joe’s embrace. “Perhaps not as nice a bit of ocean as it is two hours east...” he teased.

“Only two hours? You must have been speeding.”

“Maybe a little,” Nicky acknowledged. He shifted around so that they were pressed chest to chest, moving to nuzzle at the join between Joe’s shoulder and neck and pressing gentle kisses to the skin there. His hands started to roam over Joe’s stomach, over his chest, tugging his tshirt up to allow his hands to creep under the fabric.

“I was in rather a hurry to get here,” he said, as his thumbs found their way to Joe’s nipples. “As much as I’ve missed your company, there’s something else I’ve been missing almost as much.”

“Oh?” Joe pretended to think. “I wonder what that could be. Is it… my wonderful fashion sense?”

Nicky tweaked one of Joe’s nipples, causing Joe to inhale sharply.

“No? Ok… is it my enviable head of hair?” Joe gasped as Nicky administered the same treatment to his other nipple.

“You’ll have to help me out here, Nicky, I can’t possibly think what you could have been missing besides my sparkling personality.”

“I’ve been missing you, you insufferable man,” Nicky laughed. “Your lips, your fingers… everything.”

“Ah.” Joe took a hold of Nicky’s chin and angled him towards Joe’s lips so he could kiss him, slow and deep. “Then you shall have me.”

Before Nicky could get another word in, Joe turned him around so that he was facing the window again. “Don’t worry, no one can see us up here. And I want you to fully appreciate the view.”

Joe wrapped his arms around Nicky, one hand exploring his chest while the other dipped down to the waistband of his trousers, opening the fly and tugging his trousers down his thighs. Nicky let out a sigh when Joe cupped him in his hand, and Joe realised how much he’d missed this. Nicky made Joe’s life brighter with his soft smiles and sly wit, but he also set Joe’s blood afire like nothing else.

He nuzzled into Nicky’s neck, sucking kisses into the tender skin and admiring how easily speckled bruises bloomed. He slipped his hand under Nicky’s underwear, taking him in his hand and stroking him into hardness, doing his best to coax out the sighs and groans from Nicky that he loved so much.

When Nicky was fully hard, Joe sank to his knees in front of him and took him into his mouth, the taste and feel of him so achingly familiar that Joe wondered how he’d ever managed the last couple of weeks without it. As he started to bob his head he felt Nicky’s hands come up to rest in his curls: not pushing, or even guiding, but simply enjoying the sensation of running his fingers through Joe’s hair.

Joe doubled down on his efforts. He wanted Nicky to need something to hold on to.

“I won’t… won’t last, Joe.” Nicky’s voice was rough, his hips jerking slightly as he seemed to fight between wanting to thrust deeper into Joe’s mouth and holding himself steady.

Joe pulled off with a long, slow suck, letting the head of Nicky’s cock rest against his lips as he caught his breath.

“We have almost a fortnight together.” He grinned. “I think I can forgive you for not lasting this one time.”

He allowed Nicky a moment of respite and busied himself by kissing the sensitive skin of Nicky’s inner thighs, enjoying the soft gasps he drew from Nicky’s mouth, the slight trembles he could feel running through Nicky’s legs. When Nicky started to swear under his breath in Italian Joe decided that was enough teasing, and took Nicky back into his mouth.

To his credit, Nicky lasted almost a full minute before spilling down Joe’s throat.

“What do you think of the view now?” Joe asked with a grin, wiping a stray drop of come from the corner of his mouth.

Nicky’s eyes were dark as he looked down at Joe, his fingers slowly running through Joe’s curls as he visibly swallowed.

“I think,” he said, “I’d need to see the view from the bedroom before I make my final judgement.”

*****

“Fancy going out today?” Joe asked Nicky on the fourth morning of his stay. Nicky looked up from his newspaper, a frown creasing his brow in a way that shouldn’t, and yet did, make Joe want to kiss him.

“A bit risky, no?” he asked.

“I don’t know, if you shave that moustache I bet you’d be unrecognisable.” Joe teased. Nicky snorted, and turned back to his newspaper.

“I’ll stay here then,” he said.

Joe just grinned, vaulting over the back of the sofa to land right beside Nicky.

“What if by “going out” I mean “taking a boat out into the ocean where no-one can see us”?”

Nicky set his paper down. “I’m listening.”

After less than a minute of Joe convincing Nicky to come out with him, and just over an hour of getting things ready for their outing, they were ready to head out to the docks. Nicky insisted on wearing his flimsy Williams disguise again, pulling his cap low over his forehead and trying in vain to hide his broad shoulders under a jacket adorned with the Union Flag.

Joe headed out first, arriving at the dock a good few minutes before Nicky which allowed him time to check the boat over and prepare it for their trip. When Nicky arrived they set out immediately, speeding out into the ocean and away from the hustle and bustle of Monaco. It wasn’t Joe’s boat, sadly, but he had piloted it a couple of times before, and with the sea calm and the skies clear he had no trouble at all bringing them out to sea.

“It’s Torres’,” Joe explained when Nicky asked him about the boat. “He lets me use it sometimes in exchange for my pass to the tennis club.”

“Torres,” Nicky mused. “How’s he enjoying retirement?”

“He’s loving it.” Joe laughed. “He comes round after every race to tell me all the things I did wrong.”

Nicky laughed. “That sounds about right.”

Joe brought them out to the ocean and along the coast, until Monaco was hidden from them. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and no other boats out as far as they were. It was perfect. Nicky had put together a picnic for them, complete with freshly baked biscuits and a bottle of wine, and he started to unpack their hamper as Joe turned off the engine. He’d sent Joe out that morning with a detailed grocery list and a handful of francs: Joe had protested, of course, but Nicky had firmly told him that seeing as he’d gone to the trouble of exchanging his lira he might as well use them. Joe had still used his own money to splash out on the wine.

They spent a wonderful afternoon out on the sea, eating and drinking and laughing like they were the only two people in the world. It was both a shame and a privilege, Joe thought, that he was the only one who got to see Nicky like this: carefree, smiling, and full of more love than any one man should be able to hold. The fact that the press still saw them as rivals and enemies hurt: Nicky was frequently described as having a “cold fury” as opposed to Joe’s own “burning temper”, despite the fact that it had been almost a whole year since their fight last season. It wasn’t fair. That wasn’t Joe, and it certainly wasn’t Nicky.

On second thoughts, Joe reasoned later after the wine was gone and the sky was beginning to darken, he was quite glad no one else got to see this. He was currently lying on his back, cloudless sky above him and blue sea below, food on hand, and, best of all, Ferrari star Nicolò di Genova between his legs, lazily sucking his cock. The tabloids would have a field day.

He’d already come once that morning, spread out on his bed as Nicky steadily took him apart until he cried his release into a pillow, and even though he was unlikely to come again anytime soon he was still enjoying having Nicky lick and kiss and suck at him like he was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“You won’t get to enjoy the view if you stay down there all day,” Joe teased after a while. Nicky rolled his eyes, and playfully nipped at the inside of Joe’s thigh.

“Again with the view.” Nicky snorted, and dramatically stood up and stretched, surveying the horizon with his hands on his hips. Joe unashamedly stared at the glorious sight of a naked Nicky standing above him.

“Joe, there’s another boat over there.” Nicky suddenly dropped to the deck and Joe shot upright, scanning the horizon.

Nicky was right: there was a tiny boat in the distance, smaller even than the one they were on, but he could barely make out the figures on it. He wasn’t even sure if there was one person on board or two. He relaxed.

“It’s alright,” he told Nicky. “If we can’t see them, there’s no way they can see us.”

“Hmm.”

Nicky didn’t seem convinced, and he started pulling his clothes back on. Oh well. A few hours out in the open was all Joe had really been hoping for, but it was still a shame to end on such a note. The journey back to his flat was hurried and tense, Nicky unwilling for them to travel together no matter how much Joe tried to convince him that the people of Monaco were generally too wrapped up in their own lives to notice anyone else’s.

Joe found himself wondering how long they could last like this, sneaking around, too scared to live their own lives to the full. Nicky must have sensed his thoughts, as he pulled Joe into a tight hug the second he made it back to the apartment.

“We’ll find a way,” Nicky promised, his words muffled from where his face was pressed to Joe’s shoulder. “Somehow, we’ll find a way.”

*****

Joe felt like he was walking on air when he arrived at Anderstorp circuit after the summer break. Two glorious, uninterrupted weeks of having Nicky by his side had set him up nicely for the rest of the season, and he was already looking forward to the last few races. Nicky had promised to take him to Genoa to meet his family during the winter break, and Joe was planning on inviting his own family to stay with him in Monaco for a while so that they too could meet Nicky. He couldn’t wait.

“Joe? Joe, are you listening?”

Joe pulled himself away from thoughts of Nicky and back to the task at hand: namely, listening to his race engineer take him through the strategy for the race.

“Sorry, Nile,” he said, smiling in apology. “Just got distracted for a second.”

“Gee, thanks.” Nile rolled her eyes. “Hey, if you want to go into this race blind that’s fine, but I’m going to tell the boss exactly who’s to blame when you finish dead last.”

“Ooof.” Joe groaned and clutched his chest as though he’d been shot. “Give me _some_ credit.”

“I will, if you listen.” Nile thumped him good-naturedly on the shoulder with her clipboard, and Joe raised his hands in surrender.

“As I was saying, I just think you’re braking too early: you could get at least a half second on a good lap if you pushed it just a little further,” Nile told him.

“If you were speeding down the straight at over 100mph, would you be happy braking a little later?” Joe teased her.

Nile laughed. “I wouldn’t even dare to go that fast in the first place. And I’m not the one who drives for a living. Besides, it’s not really a fear issue, is it?”

“It’s not,” Joe admitted. “It’s the brakes, I don’t want to wear them out.”

“I thought that might be your worry. I talked to the guys last night and they all say the brakes can take plenty more than what you’re giving them. Seriously, compared to Schneider your brakes look practically new. I’d say give it a go in Practice tomorrow, I’ll get the guys to do a double check on the wear, and if you’re all happy then try for it in Quali.”

“You’re good,” Joe told her, impressed. “Are you sure this is only your first year here?”

“Hey, you of all people should know that rookies can surprise you.” Nile laughed the compliment off, but Joe could tell she was pleased by the praise.

“So. What else have you got for me?”

“If we look at the rear suspension I’m not sure it will- uh oh, here comes trouble.” Nile broke off as she caught sight of something at the other end of the garage.

Joe turned around to see Nicky approaching the McLaren garage, angrily gesticulating at the mechanics who barred his way. For a second, Joe was transported back to over a year ago, when Nicky showing up in such a fashion could only mean that either a verbal or physical fight was about to break out. He almost laughed: how things had changed.

“It’s alright, I’ll come out,” he called over to Nicky, who stopped his arguing and retreated several paces back to neutral territory.

“You sure?” Nile asked him, her brow furrowed in concern. “He’s not going to try and attack you again, is he?”

“Before we’ve even had qualifying? I doubt it,” Joe said. “I wouldn’t worry too much, he probably just thinks I’ve stolen his parking spot again.”

He stood up and stretched, feigning nonchalance, then walked over to where Nicky was hovering by a stack of tyres. Up close he could see that Nicky was troubled by something, his usually neutral expression full of worry. His moustache was twitching. That was never a good sign.

“What’s up?” Joe asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice despite the numerous onlookers.

Nicky silently shook his head, his eyes darting over Joe’s shoulder to where his mechanics were all watching intently, then gestured with his head for Joe to follow him. They walked away from the garages, out past the trucks and stalls and officials until they reached the edge of the circuit where there was no danger of being overheard.

“Nicky, Nicolò, what’s the matter?” Joe asked again. Nicky wordlessly handed Joe an already opened envelope.

Joe pulled out the contents and scanned them, his blood running cold as he saw the two coloured photographs that slipped out from the folds of a letter. They were photos of him. Him and Nicky. Him and Nicky in a very compromising position that could only have been taken through a telescopic lens pointed directly at the large windows of his apartment in Monaco.

He could barely focus his eyes on the letter, the words swimming and blurring as he tried to read. Something about money. Something about the photos being sent to the press. He got the idea.

Joe’s blood rushed in his ears as he hastily stuffed the photos back into the envelope, the pounding making it hard to even think. Who? How? Why? The why was easy, he thought bitterly. Money. And whoever it was who had the photos was asking for a lot of it, clearly banking on the fact that the potential for career ending international embarrassment would be worth any price. Joe had to grudgingly admit they were probably right.

“I don’t have this kind of money,” Nicky said, looking at Joe with a remarkably calm expression. “I don’t, I... I can’t pay. If one of us wins the championship then maybe, but whoever this is wants the money within a month.”

Of course Nicky didn’t have the money, Joe realised with a sickening lurch in his stomach. Nicky had famously bought two modest houses in Genoa when he had won his first championship, one for himself and one for his parents, but that was the most money he’d ever spent in his life. The rest of his prize money went to charities, to local schools, to sponsoring kids through the lower ranks of racing. It had been endearing when Joe had first found out. Now it worried him.

“If I sold my flat I could just about cover it, but who’s to say they won’t come back and ask for more?” Joe bit his lip as he thought. Nicky started to pace.

“We need to talk to Andy. She has contacts in the media, maybe she can work out who this person is and stop them?”

“We’ve got nothing to go off,” Joe said glumly. The note was printed by a typewriter, the envelope addressed to Nicky written in block capital letters. The post mark suggested that it had been posted locally in Sweden, meaning that anyone who travelled with the F1 circus was potentially a suspect. It could be from a journalist, a fan, or even a fellow driver. There was no way of knowing.

“Joe.” Nicky’s voice was firm. “We should talk to Andy.”

*****

Andy had little to say on the matter, other than a sympathetic wrinkle of the nose and the strict instructions not to engage with any further correspondence without clearing it with herself first of all.

“And for gods’ sake, try to be discrete from now on. Don’t give them any more fuel” she finished with a sigh as she ushered Nicky and Joe from her office. As if it was their fault. As if Joe and Nicky were doing something wrong. Nicky tried to rationalise that her coarse manner was simply misplaced worry for them both. Joe didn't much fancy being rational in that moment.

The practice sessions were hell, and qualifying even more so, Joe unable to quite push the feeling that his life was ready to fall to pieces around him from his mind. He managed to keep it together enough to finish in 5th, normally a respectable enough position for most drivers, but Joe hadn’t qualified any lower than 3rd the entire season.

“Everyone has off days,” Nile consoled him as he mumbled his apologies to the team upon returning to the pits. “And you still qualified higher than di Genova,” she added.

Nicky had qualified in 7th, his worst position in years. He’d left the track immediately afterwards, returning to his hotel before Joe could even attempt to talk to him. From coming into the weekend on such a high, Joe felt as though the foundations of his entire world were crumbling beneath him, dropping him into a freefall that he had no idea of how to escape from. Someone knew about him and Nicky. Someone was unafraid to use that knowledge against them, to strip either their money or their dignity away from them. It wasn’t _right_. He and Nicky should never have had to hide in the first place, but they had, and now the thought of their relationship being dragged out into the public eye for everyone to laugh at was sickening.

In lieu of his usual secret liaison with Nicky that night, Joe decided to spend some of his now precious money on a long-distance phone call home to his mother. He hadn’t told her about Nicky yet, not so much because he was worried she would disapprove, but more that he wanted to be certain it was real before telling his family. After their time in Monaco he had been ready to tell her, even excited to, but the second he picked up the phone he found he didn’t have the words.

“Yusuf? Are you alright? You’re unusually quiet, love.” The concern in his mother’s voice was clear even through the crackly line.

“I just…” Joe sighed. “I just needed a reassuring voice. Some comfort, I think. It’s been a tough weekend, mama.”

“Oh habibi, of course. I saw the qualifying results and-”

“It’s not just the qualifying,” Joe said, rubbing his temples. He rolled over onto his back, the cord of the phone stretched to its limits as he tried to get comfy on his bed. Sir Freddy the Teddy, the stuffed bear in a racing helmet he’d been given for luck before his very first F1 race, caught his eye and he reached for the toy, holding it close to his chest as a poor replacement for an actual hug.

“It’s… have you ever felt trapped, mama? Like you’ve been forced into a corner and you want to leave, you want to get out, but you just can’t?”

“Yusuf, what’s happened? Whatever it is, you know your baba and I are here for you, we always have been.”

“I made a mistake,” Joe said miserably. “Well, not a mistake, it’s not bad, not really, and I don’t regret it, but if presented the wrong way it could ruin my career. Ruin my life.”

“Is it drugs?” his mother sounded wary. “If it is it’s not too late, we can help you.”

“It’s not drugs,” Joe hastily assured her. “It’s… there’s someone I love very much, mama. Someone I had been planning to introduce to you all once the season’s over but first… first I have to see if I can even make it to the end of the season. I worry that I- that we may be forced to choose between our love and our careers, and I can’t reconcile my head and heart to decide what to do.”

“Oh, Yusuf.” his mother sighed, and Joe was instantly transported back to his childhood by the sound. He wanted to be hugged, he wanted to be comforted, he wanted his mother to whisper that it would all be ok. He felt tears prick his eyes, and angrily brushed them away.

“You’ve always felt everything so fiercely, habibi. I’m sorry, you get that from me,” his mother soothed. “And if there are people willing to use that love of yours against you… just know that you always have a home to run back to. I know racing seems like your life, but it’s just a job, Yusuf.”

“I know,” Joe said, his voice sounding small and distant to his own ears. “I know you’re right it’s just… it’s hard.”

“I know, darling. To love someone can be both the most wonderful blessing and most terrible burden at the same time, and only you can decide which way you want the balance to swing.” His mother paused for a second. “Would you like me to come to your next race? Now that Noor’s got her job, your baba and I have a little extra money; I can certainly fly over to France if you’d like.”

“No, no, it’s fine mama.” Joe took a deep breath. “Just talking has helped, thank you.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am. I’ll figure it out somehow, I just need to think.”

Joe could hear the silence from his mother’s end, and quickly changed topic before she could talk him round to letting her come to visit.

“So,” he said with a forced brightness. “What’s this about Noor’s job?”

*****

Joe heard nothing for the rest of the weekend, and nor did Nicky, and by the time the French Grand Prix rolled around over a week later they had still heard nothing from their would-be blackmailers. Joe hadn’t spent a single moment alone with Nicky during that time. He hated it.

He had tried to push the problem from his mind, telling himself that there was nothing to be done until Andy decided what to do, but he still found himself lying awake every night running over every eventuality in his mind over and over and over. If they paid up their troubles would be over and they could carry on as before, but the blackmailer could demand more money, or release the photos anyway, or someone else could find out, or…

Or, Joe tried to reason, they could refuse to pay, the photos would be released, and worst case they both ended up jobless and humiliated. The best case scenario would allow them to keep both their jobs and their relationship, but they’d still have to deal with those damned photos free for the world to see. Joe wouldn’t be able to look his family in the eyes again, knowing that they knew. It was all hopeless.

When Joe arrived in the paddock for qualifying, he did so with a coffee in each hand, running on just a few hours sleep and yet absolutely determined to take control of something in his life and finish in a decent position that weekend. The blackmailer might have messed with both his head and his heart, but he would not allow them to ruin his race. Not anymore.

Either the coffee or Joe’s sheer determination meant that he managed to qualify in 3rd, with only Nicky and Booker ahead of him. Whatever it was that was behind his return to form also caused him to crash the second he stepped out of the car, his body suddenly feeling the strain of too little sleep and too much concentration. He needed a nap. He needed to sleep for possibly an entire year and wake up when this whole mess was over.

Joe changed and made to leave the track the second his debrief was over, his mind firmly set on a long bath and a longer sleep before he attempted to do anything else. He was so focused on making it back to the hotel as soon as possible that he didn’t notice he was being followed until a voice called out from behind him:

“Joe, Joe, a word please? Just a moment of your time?”

Joe groaned and turned around. A reporter with unsettling eyes wearing a heavy blazer was following him, notepad in hand.

“Interviews are done, sorry,” Joe said, turning and continuing to walk back to the car park.

“This is about the rumours concerning yourself and Nicky di Genova. Rumours of a certain... intimate nature.”

Joe stopped in his tracks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my relationship with di Genova starts and ends with our battle for the championship.”

“Oh I think you do know.” The reporter’s voice took on a taunting tone. “Does him paying you a visit at your flat in Monaco ring any bells?”

Joe glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then grabbed the reporter by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down between two lorries.

“That was you?” he asked, trying to keep a hold of his temper. “You took those pictures?”

“No. He did.” The reporter smirked, and gestured behind him with his head. A man with a camera had appeared at the end of the lorries, the lens pointed straight at them. “Oh dear, it wouldn’t do to be seen to be threatening a reporter now, would it?”

Joe swore and let go of the man. The reporter brushed himself down. He was shorter and slighter than Joe, with dark hair and pale eyes and an intolerably smug expression on his face. Joe clenched his hands together behind his back, resisting the urge to punch him square on the nose.

“Thank you,” the man said. “So harsh, when really I’m only trying to help you. It would be such a shame, after all, if those photos got released to the public. Or even sent directly to your team, perhaps.”

“What do you want?” Joe asked, his teeth clamped together.

“I think you know what I want. The money. All of it. I admit I was surprised: I know I gave you a month, but I would have thought you’d want to get it over with.” The man seemed almost bored with the conversation, his voice a lazy drawl.

“We don’t have that kind of money. I haven’t even won a championship yet, and Nicky gives most of his winnings to charity,” Joe tried to reason.

“That apartment in Monaco must cost a pretty penny or two, and I’m pretty certain I saw Mr di Genova arrive at the track in a Ferrari this morning. A GTS is it? Must be able to get four or five thousand for that.”

“And who’s to say you won’t come back for more afterwards?” Joe demanded.

“Is my word not enough?” the man pretended to be shocked, placing a hand over his heart.

“The word of a man like you is worthless.” Joe spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to leave.” He turned away from the man and decided to head straight towards Andy’s office. Resting could wait. If the blackmailer was here, at the circuit, perhaps the FIA could step in and nip this whole horrid mess in the bud before it had the chance to get worse.

“Oh but Joe?” the man called as Joe started to walk away. Joe stopped, but didn’t turn around. He didn’t trust himself to look at the man’s face without swinging for it.

“Do avoid trying anything foolish. I have the photos safely stored well away from here, with explicit instructions to publish them the minute I give the word.”

Joe grit his teeth and walked away, faster this time, his only goal to relay everything to Andy as quickly as possible. The man couldn’t give his word to have the photos published if he couldn’t speak, and if anyone could get a man to stay silent it was Andy.

He found her standing outside the track’s offices, talking to a balding man in an expensive suit.

“Andy, I need a word. Urgently,” Joe said, not caring a bit about interrupting what was presumably an important conversation.

Andy studied him for a moment, her eyes giving nothing away as she considered him. After a second she nodded, then turned and walked into the office block without even excusing herself from the conversation. Joe spared a moment to offer an apologetic smile to the man she had been talking to, then followed her inside.

Andy didn’t say a word as they walked, only breaking her stride to gesture at a woman Joe vaguely recognised as one of the FIA’s media liaisons to join them.

“Quynh’s been doing some digging for me.” Andy explained once all three of them were safely behind the closed door of her office. “Quynh, Joe. Joe, Quynh.”

“If this were under any other circumstances I’d say it was a pleasure.” Quynh smiled and held her hand out for Joe to shake. “But as things are…”

“Yes, well, that’s what I needed to talk about.” Joe shook Quynh’s hand rather more vigorously than he’d intended. “The blackmailer’s here. At the circuit.”

Andy swore under her breath, then stalked over to her desk and yanked one of the drawers open, bringing out a bottle of whiskey.

“Right,” she said, “sit down, drink up, and tell us exactly what happened.”

Joe gratefully took the whiskey offered to him and relayed his encounter to Andy and Quynh, giving Quynh as much detail on what the man looked like when she prompted.

“Sound like anyone you know?” Andy raised an eyebrow at Quynh once Joe had finished.

“I know a few who’d fit the bill,” Quynh mused. “But the only one who I can imagine would be desperate enough to try something like this is a man called Steven Merrick.”

“Merrick…” Andy rolled the name around her mouth. “It doesn’t ring any bells.”

“He’s freelance,” Quynh supplied. “I don’t think he’s ever written more than a couple of articles, and from what I recall, they weren’t particularly inspiring.”

“Well this story is sure to be more of a fire starter,” Andy said dryly.

“Hmm.” Quynh tapped a finger against her chin as she pondered things. “You said he had the photos hidden away from him, yes?”

“Yeah. Said they were ready to be released as soon as he orders it.” Joe replied.

“Merrick’s London based, if I recall,” Quynh said slowly. “His office shouldn’t be too hard to find, if he even has one.” She looked at Andy and smiled slightly, Andy catching her eye and breaking into a matching grin.

“Sao Paolo ‘67?” Andy asked.

“My thoughts exactly.” Quynh’s smile grew wider.

“What?” Joe looked between the two women, trying to work out what he was missing. “What happened in Sao Paolo? Was Merrick there too?”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Andy said. “Let me see… two weeks until his deadline? I think we can manage to sort something out before then.”

“But what should I do?” Joe asked. “I can’t just let you do this for us without helping.”

“You can help by putting on a good race tomorrow. Keep our ratings up,” Quynh said.

“Exactly. Focus on your job, Joe, and we’ll sort out the rest. I’ll go and tell Nicky what’s happening, but until you hear from me I’d suggest you just try to ignore the whole business. Keep calm and carry on. We will sort this Joe, I promise you that.” Andy’s voice was earnest, and Joe found himself not only wanting to hope that she could solve things, but actually believing that she could.

As he looked at the fierce determination on Andy’s face and the quiet self-assurance on Quynh’s, Joe felt a flicker of hope for the first time since this all began.

*****

 _Keep calm and carry on_ Joe thought bitterly to himself as he lay on the bed in his hotel room. Alone. Ordinarily, on a Saturday evening after qualifying he would meet Booker in the bar of whatever hotel they were in, and watch a game or two of whatever sport the country they were currently in favoured. Joe didn’t feel as if he had the heart for it today. The elation he had felt as he’d left Andy’s office had waned on his journey back to the hotel, to be replaced with a newer, fresher worry: he was no longer certain that he wanted to keep things secret.

Joe wondered if all the secrecy was worth it. He had, what, a decade at most in F1? He would gladly spend the rest of his life with Nicky if he could. The two were incomparable, and if he could only think for a minute then maybe he could work something out.

He needed to speak to Nicky.

Joe wasn’t certain what room Nicky was even staying in, but after putting on a quite frankly awful Italian accent and ringing the hotel’s front desk to ask for Nicky’s room number he had it. He felt ridiculous making his way from one end of the hotel to the other, ducking into corners and hiding in the shadows every time he heard approaching footsteps, but he safely made it to Nicky’s room without passing a single soul. Nicky pulled him inside the second he finished knocking.

“I’m going mad,” Joe announced, not even bothering to properly greet Nicky before he started pacing around his room. “I don’t like just having to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while Andy tries to sort things for us.”

“You’re not doing that much sitting,” Nicky said wryly. He perched himself on the end of his bed and watched Joe intently. “But I feel the same. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do.”

“There’s nothing we can do, and at this point I don’t even know what I want to do.” Joe stopped his pacing, coming to a stop in front of Nicky. He scrubbed his hand through his stubble as he considered his words, unsure of how they would be received.

“I do wonder…” Joe started then trailed off, his throat suddenly dry. 

“If we shouldn’t hide any more?” Nicky finished for him. “I wonder the same. But this… it’s a horrible sport we’ve given our lives to. Every decision is made by money, every mention of change shot down before it’s even given a chance. In nearly 25 years of this sport we’ve only had one woman driver, and she was treated appallingly.”

“It shouldn’t be this way. It’s not right,” Joe said. He could see Nicky’s point: the unknown of how they would be treated should their relationship come to light terrified him, but he was beginning to wonder if his career was really worth it. They sat in silence for several long minutes, their future stretching out ahead of them as tantalising as it was uncertain.

“Yusuf.” Nicky’s voice was calm when he finally spoke again, unwavering, and Joe felt some of the tension ebb away from his body just at the sound of it. “I don’t want to hide forever. I won’t hide forever. I love this job, but I love you more.”

“I love you too,” Joe replied softly. “And I think… I think there are worse things that could happen then those photos being released. I just wish it could be on our terms.”

Nicky met Joe’s from his spot on the bed, his eyes as bright as ever even in the poor light of the bedroom. “Perhaps it could be. We still have two weeks before our deadline: this weekend, after the race. We could tell everyone. Take the power away from Merrick. And if our teams decide to drop us, well…”

“We have enough money to start over.” Joe’s heart was racing in his chest. It was madness, potentially career ending madness, but it was a madness that meant they would finally be free. “I’ll sell my flat in Monaco, move in with you. We could start a garage, or a driving school, anything.”

“Are you sure?” Nicky’s voice finally cracked, his eyes desperately searching Joe’s. “Because as much as I hate this, Joe, if you want to keep it secret for longer I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you.”

“I can’t…” Joe found the words getting stuck in his throat, tears forming in his eyes. “I don’t want the best thing in my life to be secret. Not anymore.”

He sank down onto the bed next to Nicky and took his hands between his own. The simple touch was grounding, affirming, and Joe would gladly never touch a steering wheel again if it meant he could keep holding these hands. God, how had he ever been so blinded as to even think of hiding this?

“I feel like a weight’s been lifted from my shoulders,” Nicky said quietly. “These last two weeks… they’ve been awful, Joe.”

“I know.” Joe chuckled ruefully. “I wish we’d come to this conclusion sooner. It would have been wonderful to tell Merrick where to stick his demands when he cornered me.”

Nicky snorted at that, and Joe laughed with him, suddenly feeling free. He leant in towards Nicky and kissed him, his frustration and anger fading away as Nicky’s lips moved against his, slow and reassuring. The next few weeks were going to be hell, but it would all be worth it just to have Nicky in his arms just like this without any fear of being discovered.

Nicky withdrew after a while and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “I have to go soon,” he said regretfully. “Team dinner. But I can come find you afterwards: we can talk more about how we want to handle this all.”

“Go,” Joe said, his heart already feeling lighter knowing that he and Nicky were on the same page. “No, wait, this is your room. I’ll go. I’m supposed to meet Booker anyways.”

“Have fun.” Nicky leant across and kissed Joe lightly on the lips, then swatted at him to stand up. “Try and get Booker thoroughly drunk so I have one less thing to worry about tomorrow.”

“Oh, worried about Booker now? And here I was thinking I was your closest rival,” Joe teased as he quickly smoothed his hair down in the mirror. He caught sight of Nicky grinning at him in the reflection and smiled back.

“Booker’s the one on pole,” Nicky reminded him. “So it’s in both our interests if he’s a little worse for wear tomorrow.”

Joe laughed. “Very true,” he said. He turned back to Nicky, still sat on the bed, and leant down to give him one last kiss. “Enjoy your evening.”

As Joe made his way to the hotel’s bar, he realised he had spent much longer than he’d meant to in Nicky’s room: Booker was already seated at a table with a half-drunk beer in front of him, and Nile at his side.

“Nile!” Joe pretended to be shocked. “Fraternising with the enemy?”

“Guilty as charged.” Nile grinned. “In my defence, he did buy me a drink.”

“Oh well that’s alright then.” Joe dropped down into the seat next to Nile. “Mine’s a lager then, Book, if you’re buying.”

“Way ahead of you.” Booker pushed a pint glass across the table to Joe. “Drink up, you’re behind.”

“Take it slowly,” Nile said sternly, “and don’t listen to him.”

As Joe sipped his beer and listened as Nile and Booker resumed their conversation, he got the sneaking impression that this wasn’t the first time Booker had bought Nile a drink. How much had he missed, he wondered, spending all his free time either sneaking around with Nicky or thinking about how best to do the sneaking. Was Nicky the same? Had he lost touch of friends and teammates as he tried to keep Joe a secret?

“Joe?” Nile’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Damnit, he needed to get a handle on this.

“Sorry, spaced out for a second there,” he apologised. Nile snorted.

“More than a second,” she said.

“Worried about tomorrow?” Booker asked with a smirk. “Don’t worry, when I win I’ll buy you drinks for a month.”

“Oh, when you win?” Joe slipped back into the conversation with an easy grin and a sip of his beer. “We’ll see about that. Remind me again who’s leading the championship?”

Booker sighed dramatically. Nile gave Joe a grin and salute. Joe opened his mouth to tease Booker some more, but a narrowing of the Frenchman’s eyes made him pause.

“What?” he asked, concerned by Booker’s sudden change in demeanour.

“Don’t look now, but trouble just came in.” Booker muttered, staring pointedly at his glass. Joe, of course, instantly turned around.

Nicky had just entered the bar, his usual nondescript tshirt gone in favour of a tailored crimson shirt: fresh from the team meal, Joe’s brain supplied, and looking good enough to eat himself. Nicky caught him staring and quirked a small smile at him, and Joe’s beer-muddled brain melted.

“Hey! Nicky!” he shouted across the bar, “Come join us!”

“No, Joe, what are you doing?” Booker put his head in his hands.

“It’s ok, he won’t actually join us, will he?” Nile had always been slightly on edge around Nicky, ever since she’d been told the story of the time he’d tried to hit Joe.

“No, no, he won’t join us. Why would he join us? Oh god, he’s actually coming over, Joe, what have you done?” Booker’s mournful muttering tailed off as Nicky approached the table.

“Di Genova.” Booker nodded with a forced politeness.

“Le Livre,” Nicky said, far more amicably. He pulled out the last chair at the table and sank gracefully into it, sparing a grin for Joe before turning to Nile and offering his hand. “I don’t think we’ve ever met; I’m Nicky.”

“I know,” Nile said, then hastily added, “I mean, I’m Nile. Hi.” She shook his hand.

“Joe’s new race engineer, right? He’s been singing your praises all season.”

“Joe talks about me?” Nile beamed at the same time as Booker said:

“Joe talks to you?”

Through his slight drunken haze, Joe realised that he’d dropped them all in an incredibly awkward situation. He wished he’d talked this through with Nicky before, about whether they should tell those closest to them first about their relationship: this would have been the perfect opportunity.

“I talk to everyone,” Joe said after a pause, forcing a smile onto his face.

“Urgh, you do,” Nile agreed with more than a little enthusiasm. “All our team meetings take twice as long as they should because Joe has to talk to everyone.”

“That’s just called being friendly,” Joe said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms defensively. “Something both of you could work on,” he added, looking between Nicky and Booker.

“Well, in the spirit of being friendly, I’ll get a round in.” Nicky offered with a smile, picking up all the empty glasses and taking them to the bar.

“Joe, what the hell is going on?” Booker hissed as soon as Nicky was out of earshot.

“I don’t see why you guys hate him so much, he seems nice,” Nile said.

“Sure, apart from that time he tried to murder Joe.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Joe said. “And it was my fault we crashed.”

“But you’ve spent the last couple of years at each other’s throats! You’ve barely spoken a word to each other outside of the driver briefings! And now you’re inviting him to sit with us and smiling at him?”

“I just-“ Joe’s words dried up in his mouth. It would be so easy to tell them, to explain how much Nicky meant to him, to say that the idea that they hated each other couldn’t be further from the truth. He wanted desperately to tell them: but it wasn’t his decision to make alone. He swallowed.

“I just figured it was useless wasting my time and energy on being petty,” he said. “And look! The year I stop letting Nicky get to me I’m on course to win the championship.”

“And here was me thinking Nile here was the reason for your sudden increase in form.” Booker smirked.

“It’s a bit of both,” Joe conceded with a grin. “Just try and be nice, Book. For today at least.”

Booker made a face and held his hands up, but when Nicky came back with the drinks he did at least smile and mutter something that sounded almost like “thanks”.

Nile got along much better, her earlier wariness of Nicky completely gone as she chatted and laughed and joked with him. After another beer, Booker loosened up enough to actually talk to Nicky directly, and with the drink after that they were all talking over each other as if they’d been lifelong friends.

Joe definitely drank more than he should have the night before a race. It was absolutely worth it.

*****

Joe woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed and relaxed than he’d done in a fortnight. He had a decent chance at a podium during the race. Andy and Quynh were on Merrick’s trail, hopefully to retrieve the photos. He and Nicky had agreed they would soon stop hiding, that they’d give themselves fully to each other, that the sneaking and secrecy and guilt would finally end. Joe felt great.

Nothing seemed to dampen his spirits as he dressed and made his way to the track, tapping his teddy once on the head for good luck before leaving his hotel room. The flickering bathroom light, the traffic on the roads, the ominous clouds of rain in the distance: nothing made a dent in his good mood, and he hummed to himself as he made his way through the pits to the McLaren garage. Maybe he’d drop in to the Ferrari garage and wish Nicky good luck before the race, and they could find a quiet corner and-

“Joe!” Nile shouted out of nowhere, running over to Joe at speed. She looked panicked. “Rain, the rain’s coming earlier than expected, we need to change your visor and the set up and-“

“Ok ok, I’m coming,” Joe assured her.

He tugged his overalls up over his shoulders and followed Nile back to the garage, breaking into a jog as the first spots of rain started to fall from the sky. All around him mechanics and spectators alike sprinted for cover as they shouted and laughed and moaned at the sudden change in weather. Joe caught sight of Booker frantically gesticulating at his mechanics over in the Renault garage and couldn’t resist a quick detour to tease him about having to start on pole during the one wet start of the season.

“Come on Joe,” Nile urged him, “we need to discuss strategy. Annoy Seb later.”

“Seb, is it?” Joe laughed, but let Nile tug him away back to the garage.

“Strategy,” Nile insisted firmly, not rising to his bait in the slightest.

The next half hour was spent with Nile rapidly running Joe through their change in strategy as the mechanics rushed about to tweak the car’s set-up for the rain.

“The first corner will be carnage,” Nile warned as Joe pulled his helmet on. “Le Livre has the racing line and di Genova will most likely move to cover him, and considering you have Peterson starting behind you your best bet is to move to the side as soon as you can. I don’t care if it’ll lose you a second or so: it should mean you at least finish the first lap.”

“Got it.” Joe hopped into his car and pulled the seatbelts into position, stretching his legs and neck out once he was settled.

“Joe, please, be careful.” Nile tapped him sharply on the helmet so that he turned to look up at her: her face was serious, her brow lined with worry as she clutched her clipboard tight to her chest. This was the first race of the season that had started in rain, and she was clearly nervous; Joe reached a gloved hand out and consolingly patted her arm.

“I’m always careful,” he assured her. She gave him one last wary smile then ran back to the pits, leaving Joe alone with his thoughts.

The formation lap was slow, the drivers taking it easy as they warmed their tyres up as best they could. The nervous energy that often built before a race was gone now, replaced by an eerie calm. The red light on the back of Booker’s car bore into Joe’s eyes, shining through the rain. He focused on his breathing, the other drivers melting away in his peripheral vision. His eyes were fixed directly in front of him, waiting. It was time.

Joe revved his engine, waiting for that flicker of movement that would signify the waving flag that would start the race. The roar of dozens of other cars doing the same filled his ears, and he took a long, slow breath in.

The flag dropped.

Joe slammed down on the accelerator pedal and sped away from the starting grid, dodging neatly to the left of Le Livre and all the way over to the side of the track, past Nicky. He had a clear view of the first corner. Then it all changed.

It all happened so fast, Joe barely registered what had happened. He and Nicky had been side by side, Peterson hot on his heels, when he was hit from behind and sent spinning off the track. He almost threw up, his head an aching mess, and the resulting *thud* of his car hitting the barriers was hard enough to jolt every bone in his body. A second later another car crashed into his, and Joe was jolted again.

He fumbled with his belt, his training kicking in as he tried to exit the car as fast as possible. They may have been in the middle of a rainstorm, but there was no stopping an explosive fire if the fuel tank got punctured.

He jumped out of his car and surveyed the carnage around him: over ten cars had crashed, all in various states of disrepair and with their drivers climbing out, already shouting at each other, deciding who to blame. Joe frantically scanned the cars, searching for Nicky.

There was a red jumpsuit angrily gesticulating at an already helmetless Booker, and Joe almost breathed a sigh of relief before he recognised D’Angelo’s helmet. Where the hell was Nicky?

Joe’s heart stopped as he turned around, catching sight of the overturned Ferrari lying a few meters away from where he had crashed. Nicky hadn’t got out yet.

Joe gave a wordless yell as he ran over, throwing all his weight at the car in a feeble attempt to tip it over.

“Nicky, Nicolò, talk to me hayati, please.” The words tumbled from his lips as he pushed against the car, desperation seeping into every fibre of his being. He swore he could smell burning.

“Joe? I can’t... I can’t get out.” Nicky sounded dazed, and Joe changed tactic, trying to crawl under the car and push it over from underneath. He could definitely smell burning now, and a thin tendril of smoke crept out from behind the engine. No. No, this couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be ending like this.

Joe coughed, and he could feel heat now, flames starting to lick their way along the car. He didn’t have long.

“Joe...” Nicky’s voice was faint, rough with smoke.

“I’m here.” Joe choked out. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

“Go.” Nicky coughed, and Joe pushed against the car even harder. He was sweating now, the smoke stinging his eyes and those flames too hot, too close.

“I love you, Nicolò.” He managed to get out, reaching his hand into the cockpit to hold Nicky’s. Nicky didn’t return his grip.

All of a sudden Joe felt hands on him, a firm hold that pulled him out and away from the car. He struggled against whoever it was, crying out desperately for Nicky, but as he blinked away the tears and smoke he saw that Nicky’s Ferrari had been turned over, back to its upright position. Several drivers and marshals had gathered around and they were pulling Nicky out, lifting his limp body from the car, and not a moment too soon: a second later the car was completely engulfed in flames.

Joe pushed against the hands restraining him again, and this time they let him go. He ran the few meters to where Nicky had been laid on the grass and collapsed to the ground.

“Nicky, Nicolò, wake up. Come on.” He mumbled, tearing off his gloves and placing his hand on Nicky’s throat, searching for a pulse. He didn’t care that the other drivers were stood around them, he didn’t care that there was an entire crowd watching, that numerous cameras were trained on them. He held Nicky, and he wept when he felt a pulse, when he felt a warm puff of air leave Nicky’s lips.

“Joe?” Nicky murmured, his eyes cracking open, just a fraction. He coughed, violently, spitting up saliva so dark it was almost black.

“Hey, hey, stay with me. You’re going to be ok. Just stay with me.”

“Alright, coming through.” A voice shouted over the din, and Joe looked up to see the medical team finally running over. He was pushed to one side as the medics gathered around Nicky, unable to remain close despite his protestations.

The medics lifted Nicky onto a stretcher and carried him off to the ambulance; Joe tried to follow, but was stopped by another medic.

“You need to report to the on-track medical centre for a check-up,” the medic told him.

“I’m fine, I need to go with Nicky,” Joe protested, his heart aching as he saw Nicky loaded into the ambulance.

“You’ve just been involved in a high velocity crash. You need to get checked over. You may have a concussion, bruised ribs, any number of things,” the medic patiently explained. “You can visit him later.”

Joe swallowed, and nodded, finding he was no longer able to form words. He let the medic lead him away from the burning wreckage and into a car, feeling numb and barely aware of his surroundings. The check-up passed him by in seemingly no time at all, the questions and prods and pokes of the doctors barely making an impression. All Joe could think of was Nicky.

He wasn’t even sure how he made it to the hospital- he got a lift, maybe, or perhaps it was a taxi? He couldn’t have driven himself, surely. No matter. He was there now, and Nicky needed him.

A tired looking nurse directed Joe to a chair and told him that Nicky wasn’t allowed any visitors yet, and offered no more information other than “he’s out of surgery at least”. God. Nicky had needed surgery. Joe suddenly felt nauseous, the world spinning around him, and he had to lean down to put his head between his legs. He shut his eyes and laced his fingers around the back of his neck, trying to control his breathing.

Out of surgery. He was out of surgery, that was a good thing, surely? Unless there was nothing more that could be done? No, that was a terrible thing to think, Nicky was fine, they’d got him out just in time, he had to be fine, he couldn’t leave Joe like this and-

“Putain, Joe, what were you thinking?”

Joe looked up to see Booker standing above him, looking down with a mixture of concern and confusion. He had a small cut on his chin, and his face and overalls were filthy, but he otherwise looked unscathed.

“I wasn’t,” he said honestly.

“I mean, it was admirable, really, trying to save di Genova by yourself, but you were like a man possessed when I tried to drag you away.”

Ah, so it had been Booker who had restrained him.

“And when we pulled him out...” Booker trailed off, the question Joe could tell he was desperate to ask hanging unspoken between them. Joe was beyond caring.

“I love him,” Joe said simply. “I love him, and I nearly lost him.”

“Jesus, Joe.” Booker dropped himself into the chair next to Joe. “How long?”

“A year. A little more. You know, it started last season when Andy locked us both in the Ferrari garage in an attempt to get us to talk things out.” Joe laughed a little. Talking about Nicky helped ease the worry in his heart, he found.

“A year!” Booker exclaimed. “I can’t... how did I not know? I thought you really hated him all this time.”

“I did hate him. Ages ago. Now it’s mostly for show. And even then I… I don’t even want to pretend to hate him anymore.”

“Christ.” Booker snorted.

“Anyway, you can’t judge. Sneaking into the McLaren part of the paddock pretending you want to speak to me, instead of flirting with my race engineer.” Joe decided to turn the tables on Booker. It was easier to joke than to think about what state Nicky would be in when he was finally allowed to see him.

“I’m trying to poach her for Renault,” Booker replied. “Nearly there, too.”

“She won’t leave,” Joe said confidently. “But you’re welcome to keep trying.”

Booker laughed, and Joe found that the hours of anxious waiting he had been expecting passed almost comfortably. After a while they were joined by D’Angelo, Nicky’s teammate, who brought a large flask of coffee and a smaller flask of whiskey that they passed between them as they waited for news. Nile appeared and disappeared over the course of their wait, fetching snacks and doing her best to find out what was happening with Nicky by trailing several poor nurses all about the hospital.

At long last, almost two hours since Joe had arrived at the hospital, one of the nurses finally announced that Nicky was awake.

“He can have one visitor for now,” she told them. “One.“

“Go.” Booker nudged Joe. “Say hi from me.”

D’Angelo looked as though he was about to protest, but Nile muttered something in his ear and he kept silent. Joe nodded thankfully to her and stood up, his heart pounding as he followed the nurse down a maze of corridors. She stayed outside when he went in to see Nicky, and though Joe no longer cared who knew about them he was glad that the blinds were drawn. This, at least, he wanted privacy for.

Nicky looked bad. His race suit had been cut away, and he was lying gingerly on his side: the whole of his back was covered in a dressing, and his arms were bandaged in several places. Beyond the bandages he just looked tired, his skin pale and pallid looking where it wasn’t a painful pink, and his beautiful eyes shot through with blood. Joe couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t find the words to say as he was flooded with equal parts relief and sadness at the sight of Nicky lying before him.

“I really look that bad, huh?” Nicky tried to joke, but it turned into a cough.

“Don’t push yourself,” Joe urged him, hurrying to the table beside the bed and pouring Nicky a cup of water. He watched intently as Nicky dutifully sipped at the water, then refilled the cup and set it on the table once Nicky was finished.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like shit,” Nicky said honestly. “But from what the doctor said I’m lucky to still be feeling anything at all.”

Joe laughed, a harsh, sharp laugh that was more of a reflex than any real mirth. He perched himself carefully on the side of the bed, and rested his hand gently on Nicky’s leg.

“I’ve never been more worried in my life,” he admitted. “I thought… I honestly thought you were gone for a while back there.”

“Me too.” Nicky smiled weakly.

“I was ready to-” Joe’s throat closed up as he remembered reaching for Nicky’s hand amongst the flames, the desperation that had clawed at his heart and threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. He swallowed.

“I know,” Nicky said softly. “I would have done the same.”

Nicky stretched one bandaged hand out and rested it atop Joe’s own, and Joe felt the tears spring back into his eyes.

“It’s ok,” Nicky soothed, “I’m here, Joe. I’m here.”

That was Nicky through and through, Joe thought, burnt and bruised and bed-bound and yet worried about _him_. That proved to be the tipping point, and before he could stop himself he was crying, clinging onto Nicky as tight as he dared as he cried over a terrible future he’d narrowly avoided.

He stayed by Nicky’s side until Nicky fell asleep, and even then Joe only shifted to the chair next to his bed. He barely slept that night, constantly waking up with every change in Nicky’s breathing, jumping alert when his dreams turned into fiery nightmares. It was the worst night’s sleep Joe could remember ever having, and yet the look in Nicky’s eyes when he woke in the morning to see that Joe was still there made it all worth it.

*****

Nicky was discharged the next day, and Joe made certain he was the one to pick him up. There was the usual cluster of journalists and photographers waiting outside the main entrance of the hospital, but one of the nurses took pity on them both and let them slip out the back; Joe made a note to send the biggest box of chocolates he could find to the hospital before he flew out.

Rather than fly back to Monaco for the short break between races, Joe made the slightly rash decision to return with Nicky to the flat he rented near Maranello. Nicky was fine, or so he protested, but he got winded if he had to ascend any more than a couple of steps, and his legs still trembled when he walked. Joe fully intended to dote on him hand and foot.

It was a strange but pleasant sort of domesticity they settled into, a far cry from the intense fortnight they had spent together in Monaco. Joe battled his way through grocery shopping with his burgeoning Italian, and Nicky dutifully kept to either the bed or the sofa as he slowly recovered. They did little more than kiss during the time, Joe horribly conscious of the fact that Nicky’s lungs had been full of nothing but smoke barely a few days earlier.

The day before they were due to depart for Britain, Andy rang. Nicky answered- of course, it was his flat- but beckoned Joe over to join. He held the phone between the two of them as they both strained to hear Andy talk on the other end of the line.

“I won’t beat about the bush,” she said, “I have the photographs.”

Joe’s heart skipped a beat, and he exchanged a look of pure relief with Nicky.

“Andy, we can’t thank you enough for this,” Nicky said sincerely at the same time as Joe burst out with:

“But how?”

Joe heard a light very un-Andy-like laugh on the other end of the line, and surmised that Quynh must have been listening in.

“It involved a great deal of planning and a small amount of distractionary arson, and you two owe Quynh a big thank you next time you see her,” Andy chuckled. “And needless to say, I don’t think Mr Merrick will be daring to show his face in even the same country as an F1 race from now on. Not after what we did.”

Joe remembered when Andy had first taken her position in the FIA, almost a decade ago. He’d just started his own racing career in the lower formulas then, and certain rumours had been circulating that the most powerful woman in F1 had made every single team principal cry during her first meeting. Joe found he quite enjoyed the idea of Merrick crying.

“Thank you, Andy, and please do pass on our thanks to Quynh as well,” Nicky said, and Joe echoed his sentiment. He could barely believe it.

“Now further to that, I think we need to discuss how to handle this.” Andy’s tone shifted into business mode. “The whole world saw you damn near killing yourself trying to get to Nicky, Joe, and it’s also not gone unnoticed that you were the one to discharge him from hospital. People, as you can imagine, are starting to figure it out. Now, I can get you a slot later this week on the BBC where you can both go on and talk about how dealing with life-threatening situations like this forms a bond of brotherhood akin to familial love, if you like. You’d have to sell it, though: one or both of you will need to get a “girlfriend” for the next few months at least.”

There was a pregnant pause, and Joe could imagine Andy raising her eyebrow at her phone as she waited for an answer. Joe looked over at Nicky, who gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“I think we’ll pass.” Joe spoke for the both of them. “But thanks. We appreciate it, really.”

“Are you sure? I can’t promise you what will happen. You’ll have the full official support of the FIA, of course, but I can’t control what your teams might do should the media turn… nasty.”

Nicky snorted. “I could be a purple giraffe for all Ferrari care, so long as I keep winning them championships.”

Joe wished he had the same confidence in his own team: the truth was, he didn’t know how they would take it. He found he didn’t care in the slightest: Nicky’s crash had firmly cemented his feelings on the matter. Racing wasn’t worth losing your life over, and being unable to publicly love the man who held his heart was hardly a life at all.

“Joe?” Andy asked him.

“I’m not going to pretend anymore,” Joe said. “Call me cliched, but whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Andy sighed, but there was a touch of pride in her voice. “How sickeningly romantic,” she said, “but very well. I’ll see you both this weekend. And Nicolò?”

“Yes, Andy?”

“If I see you put even a foot inside the cockpit until your medical clearance report reaches my desk, I’ll put you back in that hospital myself.”

Andy hung up before Nicky could protest, but as Nicky turned to Joe his face was far from that of a man who wished to argue.

“Joe,” he said, his eyes beginning to shine with tears, “we’re free.”

*****

Unfortunately, Nicky’s medical clearance to race didn’t come through in time for the weekend, but he had recovered enough at least to be permitted to watch from the Ferrari garages. Joe raced his best race in weeks, finishing in 2nd behind D’Angelo and extending his championship lead to a reasonable nine points ahead of Nicky. It would all come down to the next and final race in Brazil: so long as Joe finished in the points, he was guaranteed to win the championship.

The morning of the final race rolled around, and to Joe’s relief there wasn’t a spot of rain in the sky. He wasn’t sure he could handle rain. Not so soon after Nicky’s accident.

Normally on a race day Joe headed straight to the circuit after breakfast, but that day he lingered in the hotel after his team departed. After promising Nile for the fifth time that yes, he would make sure to make it to the track on time, Joe swung by his hotel room before making his way over to Nicky’s. He had something to do. Sir Freddy the Teddy had travelled with Joe to every race since he started in F1, and though not an overly superstitious man Joe had come to associate the bear with a certain level of luck. He decided Nicky needed some of that.

“Nicky, I have something for you.” Joe called out in a sing-song as he walked into Nicky’s hotel room.

“Oh?” Nicky said as he looked up from where he was tying his laces, his brow furrowed in the adorable way that signified that he had been thinking about something _very_ hard.

Joe pulled his teddy out from behind his back, holding him out to Nicky and making one of his paws wave at him. “Say hello to Sir Freddy the Teddy.”

Nicky’s brow smoothed out as he looked at the bear, his serious expression breaking into a smile. “Is that-”

“The Hesketh teddy? It is indeed.” Joe tossed the bear to Nicky, who deftly caught it and held it at arms’ length, studying it.

“It was given to me before my first ever race in F1. For luck. I thought… I thought it might bring you luck on your first race back,” Joe explained. If it were anyone else but Nicky, Joe would feel slightly awkward at giving a fully grown man a stuffed toy, but this _was_ Nicky and Nicky _understood_.

“I… thank you, Joe. I know how much he means to you.” Nicky smoothed the bear’s fur down then looked up at Joe, his eyes shining. “I think I shall be the luckiest man on the grid by a mile.”

He carefully tucked the bear under his arm then stepped in towards Joe, his face tilting up every so slightly in preparation for the kiss Joe was already leaning in to give him. It was a brief kiss, chaste by their usual standards, and yet Joe could _feel_ how Nicky poured his thanks and appreciation and love into it. When they parted, Joe couldn’t resist dropping a kiss onto the bear’s head too for good measure.

“Look after him,” Joe warned. “Don’t leave him lying around the garage and whatever you do _don’t_ let him drive the car. I tried that once, and it ended terribly.”

Nicky laughed. “And here I thought letting him drive was the only chance I had at beating you today.”

“Don’t-” Joe started to say, then stopped himself. _Don’t push too hard in the race_ , he wanted to say, _take it easy, take it slow_ , but that was ridiculous. Nicky was a driver, just like him, and they both knew the risks. They knew what they were getting into each time they stepped into their cars, were both well aware of the high stakes. Nicky wanted to race, and as much as Joe wanted to wrap him in several layers of blankets and keep him from all harm he knew he had to respect that. Nicky did the same for him, after all.

“Don’t be too upset when I beat you,” he said instead, and Nicky grinned.

“I’ll try,” he said. Despite his smile his voice was sombre, and his eyes soft as he looked at Joe. _I’ll try not to get hurt_ , he said silently, and Joe nodded. That would have to do. He leant in for one last kiss, his fingers gripping onto Nicky’s shoulders as though he were trying to force his own luck into the other man, reluctantly letting go when they pulled away from each other.

Joe headed back to his own room and began his pre-race preparations: everything had to be done _just right_ in the build-up to the race. His left shoe always went on first, then his right. He packed his bag, then unpacked everything onto his bed before slowly putting things back inside. Normally, he would have given Sir Freddy the Teddy a single pat on his head before leaving his room, but of course that was impossible now. If things went wrong in the race, Joe was taking that bear back, no matter how much he’d wanted Nicky to have it.

As it turned out, there was no need for Joe to awkwardly ask for the teddy back. He won the race, and he won it in style, beating Nicky to the finish line by a fraction of a second at the end of a race that had seen them battle for position ever since the start. Joe was running so high on adrenaline that the realisation only sunk in halfway through his celebration lap, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and let himself coast round the last few corners, waving to the crowd and resisting the urge to cut the engine there and then so he could get out of the car and dance. He satisfied himself by yelling into the silence of his helmet, pouring out all his tension, all his relief, all his joy in a wordless cry that lasted until his lungs ached and he had nothing left to give. It was glorious.

When he finally pulled into the pits and climbed out of the cockpit his legs were shaky, his pulse still pounding a mile a minute and his heart feeling fit to burst. He was surrounded in an instant, photographers pushing in front of him as he tried to make his way to his garage, cheering and jostling and taking picture after picture after picture. Joe pulled off his helmet and dropped it on the ground, shaking the sweat from his curls as he struggled out of the top of his overalls. God damn he was roasting.

“You did it, you did it!” Nile’s voice cut through all others, and Joe craned his neck to search for her. There she was- practically jumping up and down as she bounded forward towards Joe, pushing the photographers aside without a care as she rushed to hug him. He laughed, and swung her around as she clung tightly to him.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, kiddo,” he said.

“Oh sure.” Nile rolled her eyes, but her smile grew even wider.

He set her down and she soon disappeared from Joe’s sight as his mechanics came out to swarm around him, their celebrations alternating between crushing hugs and bruising slaps to the back. Joe felt a bit like a human pinball, battered about from person to person, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He’d done it. He’d won the championship.

“Joe!” David, the team principal, fought his way through the sea of bodies to get to Joe, his face wet with tears. “Thank you,” he said simply, pulling Joe into yet another bone-shattering hug. “Now get yourself over to the podium!”

A roar went up amongst his mechanics, and as one they started to push Joe back down the pits and towards the podium. Joe only just managed to grab Nile’s hand, pulling her along with him. She laughed, and protested a little, but let Joe drag her along. Nicky and Booker were already there, Nicky wearing a smile of pure, unashamed pride as he caught sight of Joe.

Joe felt a pull in the pit of his stomach, a force that drew him to Nicky and made him want to sweep him into his arms and kiss him until they were both breathless, but before he could act on it he was carefully led aside by one of the facilitators to position him for the award ceremony.

Joe thrummed with restless energy through the trophy presentation, unable to stop sneaking glances to Nicky at his side. One by one Booker, then Nicky, then finally Joe himself were invited to step onto the podium, Joe’s entire being strung tight as the cup was pressed into his hands. It was only when the first bars of the Tunisian national anthem rang out through a tinny speaker did he reach breaking point, the reality of what he’d achieved truly hitting home, and he cried tears of joy as he clutched his trophy in his hands. His parents would be watching, he knew, and he raised his trophy triumphantly towards the cameras for them.

The last note of Alā Khallidī faded into the first note of the British national anthem, and Joe’s mechanics swayed to the waltz as they wrapped their arms around each other. There was barely a dry eye among them, and Joe grinned as he watched them. They deserved this.

“A terrible anthem,” Nicky muttered out of the side of his mouth, and Joe snorted in a manner that was half laugh and half sob and all happiness as he let himself bask in the moment.

When the music finally drew to a close Joe placed his trophy carefully on the floor and scrubbed his eyes of tears, then picked up the champagne bottle at his feet and vigorously shook it. He caught Nicky’s eye and grinned at him, then subtly nodded over to where Booker was picking up his own bottle. Nicky smirked.

Together they popped the corks on their bottles, rounding on Booker and spraying him with the champagne. Booker yelped, and turned on them both, then to Joe’s horror Nicky also redirected his champagne onto Joe. Joe laughed, and took a swig from his own bottle as he was thoroughly soaked by the other two. The champagne was warm, and more bubbles than anything else, but it was still the sweetest thing Joe had ever tasted. Well. Almost the sweetest.

“I want to kiss you,” Joe blurted his thoughts out to Nicky, his words almost drowned by the shouts of the spectators.

“You should,” Nicky replied, a small smile playing across his lips. Joe grinned.

He kissed Nicky to the sound of a hundred camera shutters clicking closed. It was a messy kiss, both their faces sticky with champagne, and Joe got more of a mouthful of Nicky’s moustache than he did his lips, but he didn’t care. It was perfect. Booker whooped beside them and sprayed them with more champagne, and over to the side Nile laughed, and clapped, and wiped tears from her eyes.

There would be hell to pay after, of course there would. There would be questions and accusations and lies but Joe didn’t care about any of that. He had Nicky at his side and his friends at his back and the F1 Championship title to his name. He kissed Nicky again.

*****

The walk back to the garage seemed to take forever, Joe stopped every few steps by people either congratulating him or asking him questions about Nicky. The congratulations he accepted with a smile. The questions he ignored.

Joe’s pulse picked up again as he finally neared the garage and saw his mechanics waiting for him. Their expressions were impossible to read, and his heart sunk.

“Look, I know this seems pretty big,” he started, “but this doesn’t change-“

“We don’t care that you’re into men,” Jonty, his chief mechanic said, looking around at the others who all nodded and made gruff noises of agreement. “But di Genova? You could at least have picked one of the Williams lads.”

Joe let out a relieved laugh.

“You’ve got to keep your enemies close,” he said, and thankfully his team laughed.

“Hey, see if you can get him to sneak you into Maranello for a little snoop, eh?” Jonty winked at him as he passed him a bottle of champagne. “Wouldn’t mind getting some intel on what they’re planning for next year.”

All of Joe’s tension ebbed away after that, the support of his mechanics and the free flowing champagne doing wonders to erase any and all fears that his career could be ending. Even David tearfully took Joe aside and promised to fight his corner should any investors have an issue with him.

Joe laughed and drank and celebrated with his team. He danced with Nile to the crackly radio that one of the mechanics brought out. He posed for pictures with the car, with his trophy, with his team. He gave what felt like a million statements, a million autographs, and when at last the light started to fade and the marshals began to chase them out of the pits he retired to his hotel, feeling as though he was the happiest man in the world.

*****

One bath and a nap later, and Joe had felt like he’d finally come down from his high. He rang his family, and spent a good hour talking to his parents whilst trying to eat. He had to promise to visit home no less than four times before they finally hung up, his mother’s voice still choking with tears as she congratulated him one final time.

No sooner had he put the phone down then there was a knock on his hotel door, four sharp raps, evenly spaced. Nicky’s knock. Grinning, Joe bounded across the space between his bed and the door, pulling it open with champagne-fuelled enthusiasm.

Nicky stood on the threshold, an eyebrow quirked up in amusement at Joe’s eagerness, and for some reason still wearing his race suit.

“No point hiding now,” he said with a grin, gesturing at the red overalls. Joe had to agree, but he also thought that Nicky could have perhaps showered and changed before coming to see him. Race worn overalls were _ripe_. No matter. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d fallen into each other’s arms whilst still carrying the sweat of a race on them, and he doubted it would be the last.

“Come to congratulate me?” Joe teased, stepping back to let Nicky into his room. Nicky rolled his eyes.

“Have I not congratulated you enough already?” He laughed, then brought out a bottle of champagne from behind his back, presenting it to Joe with a flourish. “Very well. You have my greatest and deepest congratulations on your recent championship win.”

“Why thank you,” Joe said with mock sincerity. “Now say I’m the better driver.”

“You were the better driver today.”

“The better driver this year.”

“One of the best drivers, who has been blessed with a reliable car and a cooperative teammate.” Nicky negotiated. “And may I remind you, I have twice as many championship titles as you.”

Joe snorted. “You have one more than me.”

“Oh Yusuf, such a shame to have only half the titles as I have. Perhaps one day you might catch up.” Nicky sighed dramatically, falling backwards onto the bed.

“You’re insufferable.” Joe laughed, placing the champagne to one side and crawling up on top of Nicky until he was caged between his arms and legs.

“I am,” Nicky agreed. “But you love me.”

“I do,” Joe said.

“And I love you. My champion,” Nicky said softly, all traces of teasing gone as he lifted a hand to gently cup Joe’s face.

His lips were soft against Joe’s, as warm and familiar as the hands carding through his hair and his legs wrapping around Joe’s own. They kissed slowly, without hurry; there was no rush for Nicky to leave again, no pressure to rush the precious time they had together. Even if the team turned around tomorrow and terminated Joe’s contract, he couldn’t imagine any better way to end his career than in the arms of the man he loved. Joe had always thought that he lived to race, his career in F1 the driving force carrying him through his life, but as he melted into Nicky’s embrace he found that racing was the furthest thing from his mind.

Nicky’s arms were wrapped tight around him, stroking, searching, pulling, and Joe was happy to go where directed, letting Nicky set the pace as they began to move together in ever more urgent movements. When Nicky lightly pushed on Joe’s chest Joe sat up altogether, and pulled his tshirt over his head before reaching down and tugging at the zipper of Nicky’s overalls.

Ah. Now that was interesting. Parting the fabric of the race suit had revealed that Nicky was shirtless underneath, his nipples already peaked from where they had doubtlessly been rubbing bare against the material.

“Well,” Joe said, swallowing the lump in his throat. Nicky simply smirked at him.

Nicky shimmied his arms out of the sleeves, and Joe pulled the zip down the rest of the way, undoing the simple belt and tugging the bottoms of the suit down. Nicky wasn’t wearing any underwear either. Joe helped him kick out of the overalls, leaving Nicky naked on the bed, and Joe feeling rather over-dressed in his jeans.

“I hope you don’t race like that,” Joe laughed as he settled back on his heels to better admire the sight in front of him. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of seeing Nicky laid out like this, all for Joe. He lifted one of Nicky’s ankles up and slowly kissed along his leg, mouthing up and up until he was tickling the sensitive spot behind his knees, until he reached the junction of his thighs. Joe nuzzled in, his tongue flicking out to swipe across Nicky’s balls, the base of his cock, making Nicky’s breath catch above him.

He must have showered, for despite the disgusting overalls his skin tasted clean and untainted. Joe would have to change that.

“How thorough was your shower?” he asked, lifting his head up from between Nicky’s legs to look at him. The corner of Nicky’s mouth lifted in a teasing smile.

“Why don’t you have a look?” he said.

He rolled over onto his front and presented himself to Joe, and Joe’s breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of the flared base of a plug nestled between his cheeks.

“Hmm, what do we have here?” he teased, fingers reaching out to trace the rim of the toy.

“Your reward.” Nicky’s face was hidden by the pillows, but Joe could tell by his tone that he was smiling. “From one champion to another.”

“Good grief, tell me that Peterson didn’t do this when you took the title from him?”

“Can we not talk about Peterson when we’re in bed?” Nicky groaned, and Joe laughed.

“Very well,” he said.

He nudged Nicky back onto his back and draped himself over him, bending down to languidly kiss him. God, they’d done this so many times now, but it felt better somehow now. Like a weight he hadn’t even been aware of had been lifted, like he’d been living in black and white and now everything was in colour.

Joe couldn’t say whether they spent minutes or hours lying there, kissing and teasing and preparing, his sense of time, his sense of self melting away in Nicky’s arms. He was so lost in the touch of his love that he barely noticed when Nicky rolled them over, his strong arms pulling Joe along as though he were nothing more than air.

“Let me take care of you,” Nicky murmured in his ear, lowering himself slowly onto Joe’s cock.

Joe gripped the sheets as Nicky sank down onto him, as tight and as perfect as ever, taking Joe inside him with measured, confident thrusts until he was fully seated on Joe’s lap. He rocked his hips forward and Joe groaned at the sensation, fighting to stay still as every instinct told him to move.

“Good?” Nicky grinned as he snapped his hips forward again, beginning to move in long, slow rolls that had Joe’s toes curling in pleasure.

“Very,” Joe breathed. “You shall have to try and take the championship back from me, experience this for yourself next year.”

“Oh I intend to.” Nicky leant back slightly and braced himself on Joe’s ankles, picking up the pace. He looked marvellous like this, Joe thought, all long limbs and taut muscle, his head thrown back in pleasure as he did his best to please Joe. He tried to commit the sight to memory, desperate to try and sketch it later. Nicky would look so good in charcoal, he thought, so much better than in those horrible photos.

Nicky knew Joe’s body well by now, knew how to make him gasp, and moan, and cry out for more. He was relentless in wringing every last drop of pleasure from Joe, paying no attention to his own need at all until he was certain Joe was satisfied. A foolish idea, Joe thought as he rolled Nicky onto his back and took him into his mouth: how could Joe ever be truly satisfied whilst Nicky was still wanting?

After, they opened Nicky’s champagne as they lounged on the bed, falling into a comfortable silence as they allowed themselves simply to enjoy each other’s company. There was no pressure to make the most of every last second, no need to cut their time together short to keep up appearances. Nicky soon gave up on the champagne, sliding further and further down the headrest until he was stretched out fully horizontal on the bed, his long fingers idly tracing patterns on Joe’s thighs. It was rather soothing, and Joe felt himself beginning to drift off, his eyes closing as he-

Nicky tickled him, his wicked fingers switching from Joe’s thighs to his ribs the second Joe’s eyes closed. Joe startled, his glass dipping just enough for some of the liquid inside to spill onto Nicky. Nicky yelped.

“You deserved that,” Joe told him with a laugh as he set his glass down next to the bed and licked the spilt champagne from his fingers. Nicky pulled an expression that was clearly meant to portray innocence but looked far more like a self-satisfied smirk, and Joe couldn’t help but lean in to kiss the smiles from his lips. He couldn’t resist cleaning Nicky up with his mouth either, crawling down his body to lick the sticky traces of champagne from Nicky’s belly. The soft sigh he drew from Nicky’s mouth as he did so gave Joe an idea, and he straightened up to grab the half-empty champagne bottle from the table.

Joe carefully tipped the bottle over Nicky’s torso, the champagne spilling out and flowing in thin rivulets down his chest, then leant down and set to work chasing the streams with his tongue, enjoying the combined taste of champagne and Nicky.

“That’s a waste of good champagne.” Nicky laughed, but made no effort to stop Joe.

“Don’t worry, I’ll save some for you.” Joe grinned as he took a swig straight from the bottle, then offered it to Nicky. Nicky smiled and shook his head.

“Very well.” Joe shrugged. He leant forward and tipped a little more champagne onto Nicky, ignoring how a few drops landed on the bed sheets. That was a problem for later. As Joe lapped the champagne from Nicky’s skin he was struck with a thought, and carefully manoeuvred Nicky onto his front before pouring more of the champagne onto his back.

This time Joe didn’t move to chase the champagne straight away- rather he waited, and watched as the liquid slowly made its way down along Nicky’s spine, pooling slightly in the dip of his lower back. Joe tugged Nicky up ever so slightly, causing the champagne to trickle down further, between the swell of his cheeks and disappearing out of sight. Nicky let out a shallow gasp at the sensation.

“Tickles,” he told Joe, though by the sound of his voice he wasn’t complaining in the slightest.

“Oh?” Joe pretended to ponder his words. “I should probably clean you up then.”

Nicky reached blindly down and parted his own cheeks, a silent invitation that Joe was only too happy to accept. He lapped at Nicky’s hole, chasing away every taste of champagne before sucking lightly on the rim.

“Joe,” Nicky moaned, his voice muffled by the pillows beneath him.

“Nicky,” Joe replied, pulling away only to drizzle more champagne between Nicky’s cheeks and diving back in. “Nicolò,” he breathed, using his tongue to push tiny drops of champagne inside Nicky before licking them back out.

“I can’t... I can’t come again.” Nicky sounded almost helpless, his breath coming out in sharp gasps with every push of Joe’s tongue.

“You don’t have to,” Joe said, pressing one last kiss to Nicky’s pucker before withdrawing. “I’ll stop, if you like.”

“No,” Nicky said immediately. “Don’t you dare.”

“Good,” Joe chuckled, reaching for the champagne bottle once again. “This tastes so much better when drunk from your skin.”

He carefully poured another stream of champagne out of the bottle, then set back to his task. Victory had never tasted so sweet.

*****

Three months later, after a whirlwind winter spent hopping between Monaco, Sousse and Genoa, Joe was back at the race track. It was a relief to be back at work: he had enjoyed his holiday, of course, but he was glad to finally have an excuse to turn down the numerous requests of company that came in a non-stop stream from both his and Nicky’s relatives. Joe had thought his family would be satisfied by Nicky coming to stay with them for a week: he had never been more wrong. It was nice, really, that they had taken to Nicky so well, but Joe was rather wanting to have some time with just Nicky again.

He was alone with Nicky now, but that peace wouldn’t last long. They were sat outside the track’s press room, waiting for what would be their first press conference of the new season. This was to be the first time they’d been brought out in front of the media since they’d kissed on the podium last year, but Joe was feeling remarkably calm about it.

“You ready?” he asked Nicky. Nicky, by contrast, was paler than usual, his mouth set in a line of grim determination. His moustache twitched when he was trying very hard to be composed, Joe had come to notice, and it was remarkably endearing.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Nicky replied. “Though I just don’t see why this is any of their business.”

Joe gave a hollow laugh. “You get used to it. Remember my first season when all anyone wanted to ask me was if I’d be fit to race during Ramadan, or if I’d demand the podium champagne to be swapped for water instead of talking about my actual driving?”

Nicky’s lips quirked into a small smile. “You ended up ignoring the questions and started talking about whatever you wanted to instead. I think I respected you more for that than I did for anything you did on track then.”

“You were probably the only one,” Joe said wryly. Andy had given him a stern talking to about his attitude over that, but had then worked with Quynh to issue a blanket ban on religious questions during the press conferences.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Nicky said softly, reaching out to take his hand.

“At least we’re facing this together,” Joe said lightly.

“We’re facing everything together from now on,” Nicky said firmly.

Joe squeezed Nicky’s hand, just once, for luck, then stood up. “Ready?”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested, elements of this story were lifted from Rush (and therefore real life), a film about the rivalry between James Hunt and Niki Lauda. And the bear with a helmet that Joe gives to Nicky is actually the mascot of Hesketh, an F1 team from the 70s (why can't F1 do things like that now??)


End file.
